


The Possessed Man

by xJennaObrienx



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Archangels, Christmas in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Demon Blood, Demons, Impala, Meatsuit, New Years, Other, Pre-Men of Letters Bunker, Protective Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester on Demon Blood, True Vessels, Winchesters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 12:57:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17244623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xJennaObrienx/pseuds/xJennaObrienx
Summary: Sam reflects on recent events concerning his brother and the Archangel, Michael during the first few minutes of 2019.He makes a decision.





	The Possessed Man

Happy New Year.

Sam slugged down a glass of whiskey before placing it down on the table warily, mindful of the fact that others were sleeping. The last few stragglers of hunters had disappeared off to their rooms a good half hour ago, but only now was the clock striking midnight. Silence echoed through the desolate halls of the bunker.

They’d been back a while now. It merely took days for them to return after hearing the damning news; they’d fled back in groups of three or more, all of them too paranoid to risk anything for the sake of independence. He didn’t blame them, but the fearful tension was distracting.

Although he couldn’t complain. The masses had worked well, for a while. Despite belonging to an alternate world, they researched and worked earnestly together. For a few precious days, it felt like they’d been onto something. Then the trail led to a dead end and any plans fell through. Nothing had been found. Nothing.

If he listened carefully, he thought he could hear the echoing boom of a faraway firework - although it was more likely to be his nostalgic imagination. But if it didn’t sound like a firework, the distance din sounded like the click of Michaels' fingers, the bang of a gun, the Impala doors slamming shut, the thump of a body as it hit the ground-

It was probably just the pipes. Everything in the bunker creaked and groaned. Why wouldn’t it? It was ageing and had been left unmaintained for decades. Now it was occupied, it wasn’t like there was any time to play housekeeping anyway. Not if they were looking into the face of increasingly impending doom.

He drained the glass and stood up, stretching, then scooped up the whiskey bottle as an afterthought. As far as he knew, it was the last one. He might as well hide it somewhere safe and save it, so it would be on hand if desperately needed. There was no point leaving it around for a casual refreshment - they had water and beer for that. Or that was the reason he at least gave himself to justify the action as he slid it in the back of a long-unused cupboard, filled with dated cooking equipment that would surely be a health and safety hazard if used then and there. The same bottle had been bought and opened by Dean some weeks earlier - a more pricey brand of liquor in order to celebrate some kind of special occasion or anniversary - he’d long since forgotten what.

It seemed irrelevant now, anyway.

So, 2019, now. What a fucking way to start the year.

He dumped the glass beside the sink, clinking it against the tap - that needed to be fixed too; it no longer produced a temperature above freezing. But that had always been one of Dean’s unspoken duties. He’d always tinkered with things (whether they needed fixing or not) and he could be content for hours on end within the hood of a car. When they weren’t hunting, he’d spent plenty of his free time within the walls of the bunker’s garage, systematically pulling apart each vehicle until they ran as smoothly as the Impala - despite their age.

Now though, Sam wondered if his brother was even conscious or aware of his surroundings. Possession came in multiple forms - all of them unpleasant. But the experience didn’t just depend on the entity itself. Some beings - like angels and demons - could alter the experience at will. He of all people would know. Sometimes there was no memory of it - just missing chunks of time. Plenty of demon vessels were completely unaware of anything happening at all. Other experiences were dreamlike, with the victim aware of nightmarish glimpses. Often, the vessel was aware of everything - they would be completely conscious throughout and unable to stop their involuntary movements - they would be trapped within their own minds. But perhaps the worst was sharing with the intruder, never knowing who was in control at any moment and being unable to distinguish between their thoughts and the others. 

It had been like that with Lucifer. He’d got confused easily, forgotten what he wanted early on. His conscious train of thought was misled by the archangel’s more dominant thoughts. Sometimes he’d found himself playing along without resistance, Lucifer’s emotions twisting his own and manipulating his mind. Then he’d catch something belonging only to him by chance and everything came rushing back, leaving him half drowned in a flood of guilt and confusion.

He dreaded to think what might have happened if he hadn’t caught sight of the plastic soldier jammed in the ashtray on that day. Of all things, that had been what pulled him back on track - it had reminded him that his body was housing two instead of an individual - they weren’t one and the same…

Only that and the demon blood had saved them. Maybe the demon blood had been what allowed him to have that level of awareness in the first place. After all, he hadn’t experienced a possession like it since, although it was entirely plausible that this was an experience unique to archangels. He just prayed it wasn’t, that it was actually down to the demon blood.

Fuck...if it wasn’t...if Dean was going through the same thing, for this long…

If he was ever saved, would he ever be able to distinguish between himself and Michael? But Nick...Nick had escaped relatively unscathed, hadn’t he? Hell, he’d made it out, gone back into the normal world to recover. And Nick had been possessed by Lucifer for the longest period of time; it was a miracle that he was still living, unharmed.

But they had other factors to take into account, didn’t they? Like the amount of grace the archangel contained at the time of possession, if they maintained the vessel, if spellwork had been applied to prevent damage before it happened, whether or not being a true vessel had much of an impact...the list went on.

Sam could only hope that Michael was being protective of his vessel - of Dean. Physically, he seemed to - especially if the expensive suits were anything to go by. But mentally, he had no way of knowing.

Hopefully, like with Lucifer, physical appearance reflected mental condition. Sam vaguely recalled that Lucifer had done nothing to preserve him when he’d been used as the archangel’s meatsuit. The same had gone for his mental stability. But the archangels upstairs at least seemed to have some idea of morality, whether they chose to follow its guidelines or not. From what he’d seen, they dressed their vessels somewhat smartly and a majority kept the consciousness of the vessel buried deep down to protect it. He prayed that Michael was doing the same, this time.

Or at least until they could rescue Dean. 

But the problem was, they were no closer to freeing him than they were three minutes after he’d been taken from them.

Dust had been disturbed on every book within the bunker walls and necessary supplies had diminished further, but that was about it. Even money was running low - it had been fine when there was four of them. Credit card scams and pool winnings ensured they lived in moderate comfort, but bringing in the cash for ten times as many people was impossible to do without the authorities becoming suspicious. 

And they weren’t just running out of general supplies - they were running out of time too. Miraculously, Michael had managed to stay off the radar for the past couple of weeks. That meant he was up to something. And they were due to find out what, anytime time now. By then, it would be too late to do anything about it - assuming, of course, that it was possible for anything to be done about it at all.

Michael had nearly three weeks of unaccounted time to himself now, biding his time and planning. There’d been odd accidents across America recently, but nothing out of the ordinary. Wildfires and hurricanes had broken out in larger masses than usual, but it wasn’t anything that couldn’t be put down to climate change. Sam knew that if Michael had been behind any of them, the death count would be much higher - it was how he worked.

Of course, that meant that Dean had been gone for nearly three weeks too. In that time, he’d missed Christmas and now New Years Day (not that either of them generally celebrated these anyway) and if left any longer, he’d soon miss his birthday too. Usually, these dates came and went with perhaps nothing more than a few beers, but Dean had promised Jack that they were going to do Christmas properly this year, egged on by Jody’s additional promise of having them around for Christmas dinner (Donna had assured them that Sherriff Mill’s cooking was to die for and they knew it was true, even if the conversation at the table wasn’t up to the same standard).

Now though, celebration seemed to be out of the question for the foreseeable future. Each second wasted decreased the chance of them ever seeing Dean alive and as himself again.

The thought had been haunting Sam, particularly over the last few days. He was considering hitting the road for a while, to give himself some space, some time to think. There wasn’t anything here that the others couldn’t handle themselves, so he wouldn’t be missed.

Cas and Jack were perfectly capable of keeping each other company and his mom and Bobby could stand up and lead if the role of leadership was ever required. He’d always made a crappy leader anyway; it was better for him to be alone. It was more efficient.

Besides, he’d always been able to focus and think more clearly on the road, out of habit. It meant he was always on guard, his brain working on taking in every detail, no matter how small. There would be nothing to distract him - just the road ahead and whatever dodgy motel room he ended up in. He could take the Impala too. It was stocked up and ready - as always - all he needed to do was grab his duffle and go. Of course, he’d leave a note. It was just better to go unannounced and unnoticed. That way, nobody would have a chance to change his mind, to distract him.

So he started moving, a new spring in his step at the prospect of escaping the wary tension within the bunker. He’d been cooped up for ages, unable to bring himself to leave until every book had been examined thoroughly from cover to cover and every reliable lore website they could think of had been scanned by multiple eyes.

Maybe a new year could be a new start. Maybe - just maybe - luck could be in their favour, just this once.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated, including criticism or any random thoughts that you may have.
> 
> I'm currently working on a longer spn fic at the moment - it's kind of a loose au following on from the s13 final. I'm only on chapter 3 out of about 20, but I'm plodding on fairly steadily with my 13000 words so far.
> 
> Happy New Year! xx


End file.
